


CSI!Pens

by katwalking



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Crime Scenes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katwalking/pseuds/katwalking
Summary: Pens Monthly June Amnesty Fill. Originally intended for May prompt: alpha/beta/omega. The younger Pens are junior forensic agents. Was supposed to be longer, but here enjoy Conor Sheary's thighs and high butt.





	CSI!Pens

The main conference room is a circus. Invited guests and visiting agents pushing down the aisles trying to claim the seats with the best view of the speaker’s podium. Brian Dumoulin jiggles his leg. A blondish man Brian only knows in passing catches his eye from across the room and points to the empty seat next to him. Brian shakes his head. “Reserved.” The man keeps moving to the back of the room.

“Where the fuck is Rusty?” Junior asks. He’s wearing his best brown shoes, only one minor scuff on the left toe, blue slacks. His neatly trimmed beard adds gravity to an otherwise youthful face. 

“Went back to get his copy of Crosby’s book.” Brian stops scanning the doors when his cellphone vibrates. **I better have a seat.** The text glares up at Brian from his lock screen. He shows it to Junior. “He’s on his way.” He doesn’t comment on the way Junior relaxes back into his chair. 

A heavy hand claps down on Brian’s shoulder and he startles. “Going to be a good lecture today, boys,” Tom Sestito says, leaning up into the empty space created by Rusty’s reserved seat. The perpetual smell of burnt toast surrounding Sestito tickles Brian’s nose. “Bless you,” Sestito says. Brian rubs his nose, ignoring Junior’s choked noises. 

“Captain Crosby and the nerd division,” Sestito continues, “ought to be interesting.” Sestito is a hulking man with blunt, flattened features. Brian avoided him when he first joined the forensics unit, but Sestito made it a point to seek him out. Said Brian reminded him of his wife.

“I think I see Rusty,” Junior says. Brian glances over to see Rusty practically climbing over people to get to them.

“Going to be speaking about the case they helped to crack in Philly, that crazy beta case. Little Conor Sheary cracked it wide open, put that bitch on its back and fucked it.”

“Wow,” Rusty says, slightly out of breath and clutching his first edition copy of Crosby’s _The Serial Killer Within_ , “graphic.” He plops down into the chair between Brian and Junior forcing Sestito to sit back. “Thanks for saving me a seat, guys.”

“No problem,” Junior says. The blush highlighting Junior’s sharp cheekbones is so cute Brian lets the fact he saved the seat slide.

There’s an aggressive buzzing sound as the florescent lights start to dim. Brian leans forward a little in his seat. Rusty shoots him an amused glance out the corner of his eyes, whispers, “Nerd.” Brian ignores him; Rusty’s clutching Crosby’s book to his chest like someone might steal it.

Brian’s met Captain Sidney Crosby before as a guest speaker during one of his lower level forensics classes and honestly, the guy is a little strange. Prone to sudden changes of subject, built like a tank and shorter than Brian was expecting, for sure, but fucking brilliant. Brian left class absolutely certain about what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to help people, solve crimes, get justice for grieving families. 

“He thicc,” Rusty mutters out the side of his mouth and Brian bites his bottom lip, face twitching alarmingly. Crosby’s profile against the projection screen is quite impressive, but Brian’s mostly focused on the smaller man beside him. Conor Sheary.

Conor Sheary appeared from basically nowhere. A junior agent no one had ever heard of before Conor emailed Crosby with an overlooked detail he’d gleaned from leaked photos of the first crime scene. Crosby later said the information was instrumental in busting the Broad Street Killer. Brian watches as Sheary adjusts his heavy, black framed glasses. He’s cute, a pocket sized doll.

“Hello,” Crosby says, leaning into the microphone, “I’m Captain Sidney Crosby and I’m joined today by Agent Conor Sheary. We’ll be discussing one of the most prolific serial killers in recent history, the Broad Street Killer, and how he used his connections to local politicians and law enforcement to escape detection.”

Crosby pauses briefly for the more than polite applause. “Be warned, this lecture will include graphic imagery.”

A snort comes from the row behind Brian.

“Let’s get started,” Crosby says.

**

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Junior says, weakly.

Brian takes his hand down away from his neck and forces himself not to look away from the bloody images on the screen at the front of the room.

“As you can see,” Sheary says and he points his laser at the neat holes in the victims’ necks, groins, wrists, “the killer, obviously, had some medical knowledge. The extraction of the omega’s scent glands is extremely precise. He knows what he’s looking for and has a skilled hand at dissection.”

**

The hum of the lights warming back up is both disappointing and very welcome. Brian takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

“You okay?” Rusty places a careful hand on Brian’s forearm. 

Brian nods. One of the first things he learned to compartmentalize was the sheer amount of cases dealing with brutalized omega bodies. 

They sit attentively while several people ask fairly inane questions. Rusty says, “I’m going to the front,” when the questions wrap up. Brian follows Rusty as he pushes his way through the gathering crowd until they’re standing within arm’s reach of Crosby and Sheary.

Crosby is listening intently as one of the senior IT guys describes a new community mapping program. Sheary’s standing to one side sort of blank faced, blue eyes slightly unfocused, scent mellow like he’s looking into the future. 

Brian shifts his weight awkwardly and Sheary’s back straightens, gaze sharpening and swinging toward Brian. Brian swallows and fights the urge to curl into himself. Rusty nudges him forward and Brian says, softly,“I enjoyed the lecture.”

Sheary’s about a foot shorter than Brian and maybe that’s why it feels like he’s staring at Brian’s mouth before he says, “Thank you.” His mouth quirks up at one side. He has very pink lips. “I hate public speaking, so I’m always happy to hear positive feedback.”

“Yeah,” Brian says, dumbly, voice embarrassingly breathless.

Crosby cuts off midsentence and turns on his heel, clear brown eyes evaluating. The agent he was talking to trails off, falling silent. Brian abruptly remembers reading about the extreme acuity of Crosby’s vision and sense of smell and flushes red. 

“Hello,” Crosby says, glancing between Conor and Brian.

Rusty, bless his heart, says, “Hi, I’m Bryan Rust” and shoves Crosby’s book under his nose. “I’m a huge fan of your work. Could you sign this for me?”

“Sure,” Crosby says, slowly, blinking owlishly. His fingernails are square and white, clean, when he reaches out to take the book from Rusty. 

Conor clears his throat, the ring of blue around his pupils is very thin, and tips his head toward the door. 

Brian follows. 

**

“Fuck,” Conor mutters, focused more on groping Brian’s thighs than helping him get his pants open. “Your legs are so long.” Conor’s head is tipped down, eyes hidden beneath the lush fringe of his lashes behind his glass frames. Pink mouth open and nostrils flared.

The fucking supply closet they ended up in after Brian followed Conor into the hallway is tiny, cramped. A bottle of cleaning fluid rolls against his shoe. Brian knocked it down with his elbow when Conor muscled between his legs. The edge of a shelf is stabbing into Brian’s back and he’s off balance because Conor keeps pulling his hips forward trying to equalize their heights. 

Brian gasps as Conor leans in to bite at the edge of his pec through his white button down. His nipples tighten up, sensitive against his undershirt. “We can’t fuck in a closet,” Brian says. 

“Yeah,” Conor says into Brian’s armpit and Brian doesn’t know if he’s agreeing or just acknowledging Brian’s words, but it doesn’t really matter because Conor’s finally managed to worm his hand down the back of Brian’s pants and into his underwear. 

The ease with which Conor’s fingers glide down and over Brian’s asshole would be embarrassing except for the way Brian’s desperately humping against Conor’s tight abs. “Yeah,” Conor says again before sinking two fingers into Brian with no preamble. 

“Oh, God.” Brian clenches automatically, leg jerking. Conor clamps his free arm around Brian’s waist and fucks in with his fingers again. 

“Come on,” Conor whispers, “ride me,” just like Brian isn’t grinding for his life in the too small box they’re trapped in. Conor’s chanting encouragement and working Brian’s ass with three wet fingers, when a single, sharp rap sounds at the door.

Conor freezes, then groans. _Then pulls his fucking fingers out of Brian’s greedy ass._.

“What?” Brian clutches at Conor’s arms, hips still hitching, looking for relief.

“Sid,” Conor says, sadly. He raises his voice, “Give me a minute.”

Now that Brian’s not whining constantly, he can here the sharp click of dress shoes retreating from the door. “You’re,” Brian swallows, “you’re leaving.”

Conor’s looking around for something to wipe his hand on. Even in the low light, Brian can see his hand shining. Brian’s face gets hot. “We’re staying at the Marriott Downtown.”

“Okay?” Brian reaches down to cup his hard dick. Conor’s found a wash rag and he glances back at Brian as he wipes his hand. 

“We can finish this later if you want.”

What Brian wants is Conor’s fingers back in his ass prepping him for Conor’s knot. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, okay.”

Conor smiles, bright, and leans up to give Brian a quick kiss. “Genius waits for no man,” he says against Brian’s mouth, “and Sid will definitely come in here and drag me out if he gets impatient.”

Brian’s circulatory system is going to collapse if he keeps flushing like this. “Sid, uh, Crosby, won’t say anything, will he?”

“Not to you,” Conor says, grimly. He squeezes Brian’s wrist. “See you, later?”

Brian nods and Conor opens the door and steps out. “Finally,” Crosby says from somewhere out of Brian’s eyesight and he winces. He waits for the sound of footsteps to fade away before slipping out of the closet. He immediately heads to the gym shower, keeping his head down and avoiding the busier hallways.

A cold shower, along with decreased proximity to one Conor Sheary, helps Brian clear his head. The lust dwindles and the mortification creeps in. Brian ditches his boxers, but there’s no disguising the scent of Conor all over him. 

“Really?” Rusty says when Brian shuffles his way back to their cubicle. “I thought you’d taken like a vow of chastity or something and now this?”

“Shut up,” Brian mumbles. He probably looks like he has sunburn. 

Rusty does not shut up. “I didn’t know you were this easy,” he says. Followed quickly with, “No offense, omega rights and all. Do who you want to do.”

Brian’s going to have to smother himself or better yet, Rusty. He slides into his desk and tries to ignore Rusty staring at the side of his head. 

“So, you like em short. Is that why you won’t give Sestito the time of day?”

“Sestito’s married,” Brian says, scandalized. He glares at Rusty when Rusty shrugs at him, grinning. “I’m not talking about this.”

Rusty says, “Well, you don’t have to; I can smell the whole conversation. Left you hanging, huh?”

Brian drops his head to his desk with a thunk.

**

Amanda, the girl behind the desk at the Marriott, raises her eyebrows when Brian asks for Conor Sheary’s room number and refuses to give it to him until she calls upstairs to make sure it’s okay. Brian admires her dedication to protocol and the slightly dismissive attitude she wears as well as her uniform.

“Room 527,” Amanda says after hanging up the phone.

Brian inclines his head. “Thanks.”

“Have a good night, Sir,” Amanda says. The entire sentence is composed of knives.

Brian admits defeat and walks briskly toward the elevators. The elevator ride is entirely too short for him to collect his thoughts, but Brian gives it a good old-fashioned shot. What does he really even know about Conor Sheary? He’s smart, beautiful in the way most people associate with omegas and has poor eyesight? Maybe he has an omega in every city he visits. Maybe he collects them or this, Brian, is just a one off?

The door to room 527 opens before Brian can even lift his hand to knock. Conor’s not wearing his glasses and his shirt is open over a white undershirt. 

“Hi,” Brian says and Conor’s mouth quirks.

“Hi.” Conor curls a hand around Brian’s wrist. Those fingers have been inside him. Brian blushes and Conor takes a deep breath. “I missed you,” he says. Like who says that to someone they meet roughly 5 hours ago.

Brian ducks his head. “I missed you, too.” And the sad thing is, he did. He spent all day fidgeting in his chair, ass feeling empty and unsatisfied. The door closes behind him with a snick as Conor draws him into the room. 

“What do you like?” Conor asks. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I was a bit forward earlier,” he says as he sets his hands briefly at Brian’s waist before pulling Brian’s shirt free of his pants. 

Brian sucks in a breath. “Uh.”

“Hmm,” Conor says, fingers making quick work of Brian’s buttons. 

The last two times Brian had sex were during his heat cycle. He doesn’t remember anything but a relentless craving to be stuffed full of cock. “Umm,” Brian says. 

Conor looks up at him. “Do you like your dick sucked? Do you want to be on top?” Conor pauses, then voice gentle, “Do you want me to take care of you?”

Brian nods his head, relieved. 

“Okay.” Conor pushes Brian’s pants and underwear to the floor and mouths softly at Brian’s nipples while Brian kicks out of his shoes and socks. “Get on the bed for me.”

It’s remarkable how awkward and ungainly Brian feels climbing onto the generic hotel bed. He feels hot all over, mostly from embarrassment. His arms and legs are too long, his hips too narrow, but Conor only sighs when Brian settles on his back.

“You’re so lovely,” Conor says and gets rid of his clothes in a businesslike manner. Naked, Conor somehow manages to look more imposing, heavy musculature and high round ass on full display. He climbs up the bed and settles on Brian’s chest. There’s brown curls falling in over his forehead; Brian reaches up to touch them and immediately feels self-conscious. His hand appears very large next to Conor’s finely cut features.

Conor catches Brian’s hand and kisses his wrist before he can fully retreat. “Lovely, lovely.” Brian tips his chin up and Conor kisses him.

It’s easy to get lost in the back and forth, Conor’s tongue sliding against his own. Conor bites him when Brian squeezes his ass and Brian grins, happy. He can feel Conor’s mouth curl against his own. 

“Do you like it when I bite?” Conor bites Brian’s earlobe. He bites Brian’s collarbone. He bites Brian’s nipple and Brian arches beneath him. 

The playful vibe recedes when Conor wraps a hand around Brian’s dick. “Ah.” Brian opens his thighs as Conor shifts downwards and buries his nose in the crease of Brian’s thigh. 

“You smell so good,” Conor says, “I didn’t want to wash my hands earlier today.”

And that is disgusting. Disgusting and unfairly hot. Conor places a sweet kiss on the head of Brian’s dick before sucking him up. 

Brian would be the first to admit he’s not the most sophisticated in bed, but Conor’s mouth feels unfairly good wrapped around him. He tips his hips up and opens his thighs wider. Conor hums in acknowledgement. A feeling startlingly close to relief sweeps over Brian when Conor rubs two fingertips over his hole.

“Fuck me,” Brian groans, “fuck me.” His dick smears wet against his stomach when Conor stops blowing him to suck lightly at his balls. Brian is fucking drenched and Conor is playing with him.

It’s easy to brace his feet and push against Conor’s fingers. Conor makes an amused sound, but obligingly sinks his fingers into Brian up to the knuckles.

Brian goes pliant. 

Conor’s scent kicks up. “God, the way you take it,” Conor growls low in his throat and Brian might as well be made of butter. 

“I’m going to lay you out,” Conor says as he’s lining up, condom in place, “next time, spread you open and feel you clench around my tongue.”

Conor’s too short to kiss Brian while he fucks him, but that’s okay, because Brian can barely breathe. He lets his head tip back against the pillows and just _takes_ it as Conor’s thrusts go from smooth and deep to ragged, shallow jabs against Brian’s prostate.

Brian’s throat is dry. He swallows and gasps out, “Please, Conor, please.”

The grip Conor takes on Brian’s dick is low and close to his stomach so that each time Conor jerks him, Conor’s knuckles press into Brian’s skin. There’s a terrifying moment when Brian thinks he might not get there, just stuck on the edge of forever, delirious with Conor’s cock in him. Then, in a rush, he’s coming, messy over Conor’s skin and his. 

“Yes,” Conor whispers, and presses in close, pelvis, sweat and slick sticky against Brian’s ass. 

Brian, moans, weak, at the burgeoning pressure of Conor’s knot and rocks his hips to test the fit. Conor presses his come covered hand in the center of Brian’s chest, the other griping at his ass. 

Brian can feel Conor’s muscles tense and relax where ever their bodies touch. The pulse of Conor’s cock, emptying come into latex. Wasteful. 

The sweat has dried on their skins and Brian is breathing easier under Conor’s weight when he remembers something Conor said earlier in the day. He tugs at the hair at the nape of Conor’s neck and Conor makes a sleepy sound.

“Hey,” Brian says, “you said Crosby wouldn’t say anything to me. What did he say to you?”

Conor rubs his face sleepily against Brian’s chest and mumbles, “He said we smell good together.”

“Oh,” Brian says. 

Oh.


End file.
